The Night's Champion Collection: A supernatural werewolf thriller trilogy

by Richard Parry

  Liselle paused, wiping sweat from her forehead. The tip of the black blade rested against the earth, smoking and burning the Father’s earth. She looked around her at the bodies. What was left of men who’d taken John Miles from her. She looked up the street at the milling humans, ripe for the harvest.

  Liselle. Would you be bent by their will? You, who call Death your sister?

  Why those words came to her now she didn’t know. They were from her old friend, dead more than two thousand years. He was a kind man with gentle eyes. He had made such beautiful things from wood he found. This carpenter had said she could choose. Choose to not be what she was made for. She had agreed at the time and wept as he died. But that was before. Choosing to let them live made no sense in a world empty of John Miles. She should have stopped it those two thousand years ago, atop Golgotha, when humans like these had taken the last person she’d dared to call friend.

  She could choose, all right. Her fingers tightened around the grip of the black blade.

  “Baby?” The voice was weak, almost like she’d imagined it. Like it was a trick of Kaylan’s, and she shouldn’t look, or she’d fall for some elaborate trap. Although this felt more like Maynor’s work — it more like him to be so cruel, to twist the knife at the end. She turned anyway, sword leaking smoke on the ground, because to see even a mockery of John Miles was something she needed very much.

  There he was, John Miles, standing in the Father’s light. He was hunched around his stomach, blood weeping through his fingers, his face so pale. But it was him, she could tell because of that beautiful light that shone so bright it almost hurt to look. The black blade tumbled from her fingers, dissolving into smoke that vanished into the earth like water into desert ground. Liselle grabbed John Miles close, held him to her.

  “Baby,” he said, “baby, it’s cool.”

  She kissed him, or tried to. He stumbled, and she had to hold him up. “Are you real?” she said, meaning look at what I’ve done.

  He looked over her shoulder, then back into her eyes. “This is going to sound all wrong, but it’s not you, it’s me.”

  Her heart sank. It was what she’d done. He was, what did these humans call it, leaving her. Breaking it to her easy. “I—”

  “No,” he said, putting a finger on her lips. “It really is me. I just got shot. And while I’d … on a usual weekday … be up for a few rounds, if you know what I mean, I think I need to put more blood inside me. I’ve seen the movies. The blood coming out is what kills you.”

  She laughed, and he laughed, and then he winced, and she was crying and didn’t know why.

  • • •

  “Fucking awesome,” said John Miles. He said awesome in a way that suggested it was anything but. They were in the garage, breached wall and all, and John Miles was lying back on a stretcher. Not even a makeshift stretcher, a real one, as if they had expected they’d need it. And lying back wasn’t exactly right — it was tilted up, more like he was reclining on a particularly mobile armchair.

  They probably had expected it, at that. They were all there, all except for Danny, who had left after the attack — a touch, a kiss with Val and then she had gone. Hunting, thought Liselle. The Night was always hunting.

  The old man, Rex, had connected John Miles to bags of blood hanging above the stretcher. Blood was going in to one of his arms, and John Miles held a beer in his other hand. Rex had frowned at that, and John Miles had said you’ve got to die of something and Rex had said it looks like that’s what’s going to happen and John Miles had said okay, race you and Rex had looked like he’d wanted to punch him. But then Rex had done the strangest thing, for all her long years Liselle would never understand them. Rex had said thank you, and put a hand on John Miles’ shoulder.

  Bandages wrapped around John Miles’ waist. Aside from the blood bag above him, he looked completely relaxed. At home. Some of that may have been the ‘cocktail’ that Rex had added to the transfusion, a small vial of clear liquid that joined the red flow keeping him alive.

  Val put a hand on John Miles’ shoulder. “It’s a part of the plan.”

  There were torn and shredded blood bags on the floor, and what was left of the vampire was feeding on more, sitting on the edge of another stretcher, blood streaking down its face. Black flakes of carbon were littered on the stretcher and the floor around it, and its hair still smoked. The room smelled like barbecue. It finished licking the inside of the blood bag, mirrored eyes looking up. Liselle stood still for a moment, just watching it. You’ve got to decide if it’s in the tribe or not, Liselle Vitols. The time for trust or death has come. She looked at the blood bag she held, then handed it to the vampire.

  “Hold the phone,” said John Miles. “Me getting shot was part of the plan?” He tried to get up, looked like that would make him less relaxed, and leaned back.

  “That specific detail wasn’t written down—”

  “Because it hurt. It hurt when it happened, and it still hurts now.”

  “Oh for Chrissakes, Miles,” said Carlisle, from where she leaned against the wall. “It’s barely a flesh wound and you’ve got enough benzos inside you to float an elephant.”

  “Not a specific part of the plan,” said Major Pearce — Jessie. “But I think we can work with it.” She was holding one of the soldier’s helmets, turning it this way and that in her hands.

  “Fuck you guys,” said John Miles. He coughed.

  “The plan,” said Val, “was to kill them all. They’re panicking, and we can use that. They’ve slipped up.”

  “You’ve done no such thing,” said Liselle. “They haven’t ‘slipped up.’”

  “Hi,” said Val. “Look, thanks for the assist back there, but—”

  “There was no silver,” said Liselle. “Kaylan makes no mistakes.”

  “Yeah,” said Jessie. “I see two possible situations here. The first is that we’re not the target, the second is that we’re the target.”

  “My tax dollars,” said John Miles, “go towards funding this kind of ‘military intelligence.’”

  “You don’t pay taxes,” said Carlisle. “You’d need to earn a salary—”

  “I’m the only one with a real job,” said John Miles. “I work at a bar.”

  “At a bar that’s destroyed,” said Carlisle.

  “Back to the situation,” said Jessie, her voice professional, smooth, crisp. Hands behind her back, just like she was addressing the troops. Liselle saw Josef watching her from a corner, eyes hooded, but his posture said admiration. This woman was one of his chosen. She held up a finger. “First option is that they came to poke the bear. I don’t like this scenario because there’s no win in it, aside from trying to get under our skin, and I think we can agree we’re a bit beyond that. This isn’t our first rodeo, it isn’t their first rodeo.”

  “We’re all professional cattle herders,” said Carlisle. She looked down, working the action on her sidearm. “Nice.”

  Jessie gave her a look, then held up two fingers. “Second, they came for something particular, and we can assume that this objective was successfully realized.” She held up the helmet, tapped the camera on the side.

  “They came for intelligence,” said Sam Barnes. “They came to find out who we are, and how many. They came to … to see if I’m here.”

  “It is my preferred scenario,” said Jessie. “And if so, it’s a part of the plan.”

  “Okay,” said John Miles. “I’ll bite. How?”

  “Because they shot you, of course,” she said, her lip quirking.

  “Asshole,” he muttered.

  “Okay,” said Val. “They’re clued up, they know we’re here. They’ll be coming for us, claws out.”

  “Teeth,” said the vampire.

  “What?”

  “We don’t really do claws,” it said. “We’re all about the teeth.”

  “Got it,” said Val. “So the question is how we use this.”

  “Kaylan will come for you,” said Liselle. �
�She will come when the Father’s light fades. Tonight. She knows she is many, and you are few.”

  “Cool,” said Val. “I was thinking something along those lines. So now we … do what? Wait for her to come?”

  “Never a fan of waiting,” said Carlisle.

  “Neither,” said Rex.

  “That’s because you’ve got so little time left,” said John Miles.

  A vein bulged in Rex’s forehead, and he took a couple of breaths. “It’s okay, son,” he said. “I understand. It’s hard, being the bait.”

  “Wait,” said John Miles, “what?”

  “Well, you can’t move,” said Jessie.

  “I can move,” said John Miles. He tried to get up, fell back again. “It’s only a flesh wound, right Melissa?”

  Carlisle eyed him, went back to working on her sidearm.

  “Val?”

  Val shrugged. “Everyone’s got a role in life, John.”

  “I hate you guys.”

  Val turned to Liselle, then to the vampire, and then back to Liselle. “I figure one of you has to know. Where are they?”

  “Everywhere,” said Liselle.

  “More specifically,” said the vampire, “there’s a huge fucking nest right under Madison Square Garden.” It shrugged, more black flaking off its shoulders and back. “I don’t know how many of the tunnels and shit under there were OEM, and how many are … let’s say, not listed on the original plans. But it gives them a good place to … recruit from.”

  Liselle laughed. It started as a chuckle, then turned slowly into a belly laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” said the vampire, looking at her sideways.

  “The Garden,” said Liselle. “Father’s Eden. Don’t you see? Kaylan … she always had a dark sense of humor.”

  “Great,” said the vampire. “I’m so pleased my eternal damnation is hilarious.”

  “You still have a problem,” said Josef.

  “We’ve got a lot of problems,” said Val. “Which one were you thinking of? In particular.”

  “They are faster than all of you, and stronger than most.” He shrugged. “If there are just five down there, you’ve got a challenge.”

  “Bombs,” said Jessie.

  “I’m sorry?” Josef leaned forward.

  “It’s a device that uses an exothermic reaction—”

  “I know what it is,” he said through his teeth, as if he didn’t expect his children to talk back at him. Liselle smiled at that — his children were warriors. What did he expect? “I don’t see the relevance.”

  “We’ve got bombs,” said Jessie. “Well, explosives, anyway. Since they’re underground, we’ll just need to crawl on in there. The plan was to find the nest—”

  “Vampire High Command,” said the vampire.

  “Vampire High Command,” agreed Jessie, “that. And just blow it up. All that’s changed is the timetable. We need to move now, before they do. Before night comes, and they swarm over us like an unholy tide of darkness and,” here she looked at Jeremy, “teeth.”

  “At a high level, it sounds promising,” said Josef, “but you’ve got to get inside.”

  “Yeah,” said Jessie.

  There was a moment of silence. Josef looked around, then met Liselle’s eyes as if to ask, who the hell are these clowns? “Okay,” he said. “How are you going to get inside?”

  “The Universe will provide,” said Val. “I hope.”

  “The Universe?” said Josef.

  “Yeah,” said Val. “Danny’s gone to pick her up from work.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE

  Danny (11:03): Sweetie? We have The Emergency we talked about.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  (11:04): Adalia?

  [Message can’t be sent]

  (11:15): Adalia? Call me when you get this.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  • • •

  Danny (11:16): Melissa, I can’t get hold of Adalia.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  (11:17): She’s not answering her phone.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  (11:18): Jesus does anyone have their phone on.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  • • •

  Danny (11:20): John.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  (11:21): FFS.

  [Message can’t be sent]

  • • •

  “What do you mean,” said Danny, “she ‘got fired?’” She leaned across the counter, staring hard at the young man standing there.

  “I … What I mean is … I—”

  “She was fired,” said a man, thinning hair, bossman written all over him. He was standing at a door leading to the back, the mythical place of extra stock and secrets retail customers weren’t supposed to know about. Even at Starbucks, they had the back. “I fired her. I shouldn’t even be telling you this, but…” he gestured around at the customers, people with wide eyes, a few panicked expressions. He sighed. “I guess I hoped running a Starbucks would be easier than this.” Danny wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to her.

  “You fired her?” Danny blinked. “But she’s a good worker.” The response was reflexive, a mother’s response, pure and simple, and—

  She is Pack of our Pack. Blood of our blood.

  —the desire to protect was strong. “She … she says she makes a good latte.”

  “Possibly the best in this city, or this country,” said the man with thinning hair. “But she needs to turn up to work for that skill to be useful to me.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” said Danny. “There’s a situation—”

  “I understand perfectly,” said the man. “She’s not here.”

  Danny was over the counter in a single vault, hand tangled in the man’s shirt as she lifted him off the ground. She snarled at him, teeth bared. “I was saying,” she said, wanting to bite, “that she is in danger. Put that fucking phone down.” She didn’t turn to look at the young man she’d spoken with earlier, but heard the phone he’d been about to dial drop to the ground. “I’m her mother.”

  The man with thinning hair’s eyes were wide with terror. “If I knew where she was…”

  We must pick up the trail.

  Danny dropped the man like a discarded backpack after a day’s long hike, smoothed her jacket, and turned back to the store. Vaulted the counter again, looked around. Smelled the air.

  “I…” the young clerk’s voice faltered.

  Danny looked at the young man. “Yeah?”

  “There was this bar. Not that she would, you know, be drinking underage. Not what I mean.” He looked, if it was possible, more nervous. “It’s an Irish bar.”

  Danny leaned against the counter. “Which bar?”

  • • •

  Danny (11:30): She’s not at work.

  Val (11:31): She’s at lunch?

  Danny (11:31): She got fired.

  Val (11:32): !

  Danny (11:33): Why didn’t she call us?

  (11:33): Where has she been?

  Val (11:34): Did Starbucks know where she went?

  Danny (11:34): Tell the rest to turn their phones on.

  Danny (11:35): It’s Starbucks not the r u

  (11:35): FBI* fucking autocarrot

  Val (11:36): I’m coming to help look.

  (11:36): Why didn’t you text me first.

  Danny (11:37): They said she was going to a bar.

  (11:37): Your phone is never on.

  Val (11:38): The FBI?

  (11:38): My phone on now.

  Danny (11:39): Starbucks.

  Val (11:39): John wants to know if it’s an Irish bar.

  Danny (11:40): How did he know.

  Val (11:41): It’s John.

  Danny (11:42): Yes Irish bar.

  Val (11:43): [HAS SENT YOU A MAPS LINK]

  (11:43): ily

  • • •

  The Irish accent was fine, and the ambience was fine, but the attitu
de wasn’t. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?” Danny gestured at the nearly empty bar around them. “The whiskey get to your head? Leprechaun come in here and steal your memory?” It was unfair, and she knew it, but dammit she was in a hurry.

  The man’s mouth opened and closed a few times, then he said, “Here now, that’s racist, that is.”

  “Which part?” said Danny. “The part where I accused you of being an alcoholic or the part where I talked about creatures from your home country?”

  “Mythical beasties are one thing, but—”

  “They’re not mythical,” said Danny. “I had an Irish friend in college. She said you were all alcoholics.”

  “You sure she wasn’t Australian?” said the man.

  “Accent sounds nothing the same,” said Danny.

  “You Americans don’t have the best ear—”

  “Where,” said Danny, “did she go?” She leaned forward against the bar.

  “What I were trying to say, love,” said the barman, “is that we’ve had no single lasses in here. Not a one.”

  Danny blinked at him. “She was with someone?”

  “Were a young lass in here just before. Lad with her too, strong fellow, Russian unless I miss my guess.”

  “A Russian?” Danny swallowed, closed her hands into fists, opened them again. Why don’t I know who she is with? She’s my little girl. “In an Irish bar?”

  “Russians know quality liquor, that’s for certain,” said the bartender. “Ordered vodka, though, which seemed a crime at the time, but they had some serious talking to do. Left together, not a half hour gone.”

  Danny closed her eyes, breathed out, opened her eyes again. “That’s useful, thank you.”

  “What’s more useful is knowing where they went,” said the barman.

  “I agree,” said Danny, “but I’ll take what I can get.”